Of Ice Cream, Morning Afters, & Trying New Things
by comewhatmay.x
Summary: Five things Blair Waldorf doesn't do.  And how Chuck Bass changes her mind . Five interconnected drabble-y one-shots featuring our favorite pairing. Fluff.
1. Ice Cream

**AN: Just trying my hand at fluff. This will be a series of five interconnected one-shots. Enjoy! Huge thanks to bethaboo for beta-ing.  


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Blair Waldorf doesn't eat ice cream. Blair Waldorf eats low-fat, 100 calorie strawberry-kiwi sorbet in minute amounts.

Trust Chuck Bass to change that.

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_Summer 2002._

It was another typical New York summer day, sweltering hot with crowds of bustling tourists traipsing around the city. For the four twelve-year-olds currently seeking a chilly refuge in the Ben & Jerry's on Third Avenue, the weather was unpleasant, and the people even more so.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Blair moaned as they stood in line, sandwiched between a harried mother and her rowdy three-or-four year old sons and a questionable man clothed in black leather. Who wore black leather when it was ninety degrees out? "I should have gone with Eleanor to Paris."

"Come on, B" Serena chided, "it's not that bad."

"Besides, we'll be in the Hamptons in three days," Nate jumped in, eager to save Serena from Blair's withering glare.

Blair narrowed her eyes slightly, before turning her back on the duo and studying the brightly colored menu as though it were _Vogue_.

The cashier was a bumbling idiot, Blair decided, as he tripped over his words and screwed up their orders. When the other three had finally procured their (rather large) ice creams, Blair stepped up to the counter, only to have to repeat her order once again.

"A strawberry kiwi sorbet in a cup please" Blair repeated sweetly, grimacing at the large ice creams the other three held.

Nate had a banana split that was every bit as sweet and bland as he was, and he was grinning as Serena wiped the whipped cream from his lip. The blonde had an enormous scoop of Chubby Hubby, which Blair wrinkled her nose at. Only Serena would like something that _weird_. Besides, there were probably 400 calories in that thing. Not that Serene needed to count calories. Bitch.

And Chuck Bass ate his double scoop of Cherry Garcia, taking care so as to not spill a drop on his pastel green polo. He spotted Blair looking at him and winked lasciviously at her while Nate and Serena giggled behind their ice creams. Whipping around to face the cashier once again, Blair felt color rise in her cheeks as she accepted her sorbet with a curt, "Thank you".

"You are not eating that," Chuck stated when Blair rejoined the group at their table.

"What's wrong with it?" Blair asked, wrinkling her nose. "It's strawberry-kiwi sorbet."

"It's not normal, that's what it is," Chuck replied with a shake of his head. "Are you really going to eat that?"

"It's healthy," Blair argued back, stealing a glance at Nate and Serena, both of whom seemed oblivious to the arguing pair in front of them.

Chuck snorted a laugh, and Blair had the sudden urge to color his ridiculous pastel shirt a bright strawberry pink. Before she had the chance though, he stood up and walked back in the direction of the counter.

Rolling her eyes, Blair turned back towards Nate and Serena with a grimace. "Did I just hear you say you wanted to go to _Brooklyn?_"

"It'll be an experience," Serena exclaimed. "I met the coolest person at the party on Saturday. She's four years older than us and she's throwing this party at her flat in Brooklyn-"

Blair rolled her eyes once again as Nate leaned forward, hanging onto Serena's every word. Blair Waldorf did not belong in Brooklyn, thank you very much.

Focusing instead on her barely touched ice cream, Blair started debating how much weight she could lose before she had to don a swimsuit. Perhaps her mother was right-those petit fours Daddy brought back from France were high in calories and completely unnecessary.

All at once, her sorbet disappeared, only to be replaced by an extra-large New York Super Fudge Chunk, courtesy of one Chuck Bass.

"Bass," Blair growled, whipping around to face his smirk with a glare of her own, "give me back my ice cream."

"This," he nodded towards the melting sorbet in his hand, "is not ice cream."

And with lightning quick speed, he dumped her sorbet into the trash, leaving an irate (and very flustered) Blair looking at the ice cream as if it would bite.

"I bet this has, like, 800 hundred calories in it," she muttered quietly. Not quietly enough, apparently.

"Relax, Waldorf. It's only 300 calories. Not that you couldn't use a few extra pounds"

Blair felt her cheeks flame, but raised her eyebrow at Chuck all the same.

"I asked that guy," he told her sheepishly, shuffling from foot to foot. "But it's per half cup, so I guess it's actually 600."

Still glaring at the ice cream as though it had committed a criminal offense, Blair decided that she might as well humor him. Taking a generous scoop, Blair shoved the entire thing into her mouth, all while glaring at Chuck.

It was _good_, Blair realized, licking the spoon again.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had finished her ice cream before anyone else-despite the fact that it was bigger than anyone else's and she had started 20 minutes or so after everyone else.

"Wow, B. That ice cream must have been really good," Serena commented, still working on her own large Chubby Hubby.

Blair could only manage a half-glare as Chuck smirked.

…

_Fall 2006_

She wasn't enough. Never pretty enough, skinny enough, or perfect enough. Maybe if she were _Serena_, her father would have never left.

_Serena_, she thought with a sob. She hated how much she missed her (ex) best-friend, but she hated how much she needed the blonde beauty.

Her father and best friend had left, and so had Nate, in a manner of speaking. Nate was physically _there_, but he seemed increasingly distant nowadays.

The elevator dinged faintly, and Blair idly wondered who it was. Most likely it was Dorota, back from grocery shopping-or perhaps her mother had returned from her business trip a day early.

Sighing, Blair sat up, brushing a few stray crumbs from her dress as she studied herself in the full-length mirror that was artfully propped up against the wall.

Her hair was duller, almost lackluster in the dull light of her bedroom. There was an unseemly red bump forming on the side of her cheek-which looked considerably fuller. Her hips also looked too wide in her pleated uniform skirt, and her stomach nearly bulged over the waistband.

Close to tears, Blair didn't notice the boy approaching her doorway.

"Hey Waldorf," he said quietly, and Blair turned towards him, startled.

"Bass?" she smoothed her pink cardigan, hoping that her hair wasn't as horrible as she thought. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard about your dad," he told her sheepishly "And I figured since Serena skipped town and Nate…well, I'm not sure what's going on with dear old Nathaniel, but I figured he wasn't very good company."

When she made no move to invite him into her room, he held up the bag. "I have ice cream."

"New York Super Fudge Chunk?" she asked, a smile growing on her face.

Chuck nodded, "What did you expect? Fat free strawberry kiwi sorbet?"

Blair laughed, her first real laugh in a few days. "I can't believe you remembered."

Chuck shrugged. "So you got any spoons or what? The ice cream's melting."

"I'll go grab some," Blair told him, heading towards the doorway. "I'm only going to eat a little bit though. I gained two pounds this past week."

"Wait," Chuck grabbed her elbow as she passed him on her way out the door. "Blair, you don't need to worry about that"

Blushing, Blair removed her elbow from his grasp with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever you say Bass"

"I mean it Blair," he called out earnestly as she descended the stairs, "you're beautiful. Just the way you are"

The last part was said quietly, as though she wasn't supposed to hear. Blair shrugged it off, chalking it up to the fact that Chuck was probably trying to get in her pants.

She returned a few minutes later, wielding two silver spoons at Chuck gleefully.

"I propose a challenge," Chuck suggested as they opened their respective pints.

Blair raised an eyebrow, her spoon poised over the ice cream.

"Whoever finishes their ice cream first gets to pick the movie."

Blair frowned, mentally calculating the amount of calories the entire pint ice cream contained.

"Scared?" Chuck taunted with a smirk.

"You're on," Blair told him, digging into her own ice cream with fevered enthusiasm.

They spent the rest of the day complaining about their full stomachs and watching Breakfast at Tiffany's.

…

_Summer 2008_

"B?" Serena poked her head into the Waldorf penthouse, only to find her best friend curled up on her side, her hair in disarray and her face free of make-up.

"S," she responded wearily, not bothering to sit up. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were back in town," Blair raised an eyebrow, and Serena smiled sheepishly." Gossip Girl."

"That was fast," Blair commented. "Did you also read the Gossip Girl posts about why Chuck left me in Tuscany?"

Serena cringed. This was exactly the conversation she had been trying to avoid.

"I hope Lily fired that blonde bitch of a decorator," Blair mentioned offhandedly, but her voice cracked at the end.

"She did," Serena reassured her, neglecting to mention that it was because Lily had found out Amelia was absolutely horrid with color coordination.

"Good."

"So," Serena edged towards the bed. "How was Tuscany?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Serena winced. That was possibly the worst possible thing to say in this situation.

"Wonderful," Blair replied sarcastically. "Amidst all the kissing couples, I was all alone in a suite missing _him_"

"Oh B," Serena dropped the bag she was carrying and hugged her tightly. "It's going to be alright."

"No it won't be, Serena," Blair blinked back tears. "He left me all alone in _Tuscany_. It wasn't even my idea to go-he invited _me!"_

Serena continued to hold her as Blair went on, still furiously trying to stem the tears. "I couldn't even enjoy myself like I'd planned. Everywhere I went all I saw was _Chuck._"

Shaking her head, Blair wiped the remainder of her tears away with the back of her hand.

"I brought ice cream," Serena gestured towards the fallen bag.

"Thanks S," Blair reached for the bag, unearthing two pints of fat-free chocolate sorbet.

"It's only a hundred calories," Serena supplied with a tiny smile.

Blair smiled half-heartedly. She could no longer enjoy anything fat-free once she had been introduced to the wonder that was New York Super Fudge Chunk. And of course _he_ was the only one who knew her favorite ice cream.

…

_Fall 2008_

"Chuck," her voice was quiet, comforting. He was sitting on her bed, looking utterly lost and the pain etched across his face erased any trace of the old Chuck.

"I brought ice cream," he managed weakly, gesturing to the bag beside him. "Your favorite"

"Chuck," she said carefully, "Chuck, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied stoically. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hand through his hair."Blair," he began quietly "I know we're not together, but just for tonight, can we just pretend that everything's okay?"

She took the proffered pint with a small smile and a suggestion.

"Whoever finishes first gets to pick the movie?"

…

_Spring 2009_

"-your favorite macaroons from Pierre Herme." The small smile playing on her lips had grown exponentially as each gift was placed in her dainty hands.

"And, most importantly, from New York."

Blair's smile grew as he brought out the last gift from behind his back.

"So," he continued. "First to finish picks the restaurant for our date tonight?"

"Deal," she said with conviction, grabbing a pint from him. They glanced between the building and the limo, but Chuck made the decision for them.

"Limo's closer, and," he smirked "it holds a lot of fond memories for you and I."

Blair swatted his shoulder playfully before climbing into the back of the limo.

They sat, knees touching, pints in hand, faces close, and Blair grinned.

"You've never beat me at this game Bass,"

"Don't be so sure Waldorf," he answered with a smirk. "I may have been going easy on you."

Blair scoffed, "Yeah right."

"What can I say? I'm a gentleman"

Blair snorted again, and Chuck shot her a mock-glare. "I'm going to beat you this time Waldorf."

"You sure?" she asked, and though she hadn't meant it to, the question brought back a flood of memories.

He answered with a kiss, pulling her towards him briefly and letting his fingers tangle in her hair. And with a wicked grin, he pulled back and dove into his ice cream, leaving her breathless and unable to remove the lid from her own pint.

"By the way," he said casually between mouthfuls of ice cream. "I love you, too."

He grinned as Blair's head pops up, eyes wide and mouth full of ice cream.

They never made it to the restaurant that night.

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**Up next: Blair Waldorf doesn't do morning afters. Serena can have her messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed hairdo, but Blair Waldorf's hair is always perfection. Trust Chuck Bass to change that.**


	2. Morning Afters

**AN: I'm re-arranging and screwing with a few plotlines for my own crazily fluffy, storyline to work (during the Spring 2008 section). Teasers will be sent to all that review. Thanks, as always, to my fantabulous beta, bethaboo.

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Blair Waldorf doesn't do morning afters. Serena can have her messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed hairdo, but Blair Waldorf's hair is always perfection.

Trust Chuck Bass to change that.

…

_Spring 2005_

The sound of vomiting wasn't unfamiliar to Blair Waldorf's ears. Whether it was her, by her own choosing, or Serena after a night consisting of shots, dancing on tables, and ultimately, calling her friends for help getting home, she could easily pick out the sound of vomiting.

The latter situation was now apparent as Blair lifted her head sleepily, briefly wondering if her presence was needed at Serena's side. Holding back the blonde's hair and rubbing her back gently were two roles she had assumed since Serena had first discovered the joys of a fake id.

This time was different, however, as Blair's own head was pounding, and the stale taste of raspberry vodka was present at the back of her throat.

It was only after attempting to sit up did Blair realize that her hangover was worse than she had originally expected.

Groaning, she flopped back onto her pillow, but instead of the soft, down-filled pillow she fell onto something, or rather, _someone_, else.

It was only when she heard the rather masculine sound of protest, did she sit up once more.

"Bass?" she said in disbelief.

"Waldorf," he returned begrudgingly, massaging his shoulder. "While I do welcome any girl who throws themselves at me, it's eight in the morning."

"What are you doing _here_?" Blair hissed, desperately trying to recall the events of the previous night.

"You and Serena called me from the club," Chuck grumbled.

"We called _you_?" Blair asked with distrust. "More like you probably followed us there."

"Contrary to popular opinion, I do have better things to do than follow you and your trainwreck of a best friend around. I had that redhead from room service in my bed when you—"

"I don't need to hear the rest of that sentence, thanks." Blair said scornfully, glaring at Chuck. "And _why _would I call you, of all people?"

"You mentioned something about Nate being busy?" Chuck asked with a shrug, and Blair's heart dropped slightly, remembering her and Nate's previous conversation.

"Right," Blair mumbled. "Well, I better go check on S."

"Waldorf," Chuck said, eyeing her cautiously. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Blair replied, mustering up her best smile under current circumstances and attempting to hop off her bed.

Which was, apparently, not the best idea as she found herself lying on her bed, icepack to her head, arguing with Chuck twenty minutes later.

"A walk?"

"Yes, a _walk_."

"Where?"

"Central Park."

"That's like…" Chuck frowned for a second. "Five blocks away."

"So?"

"So, you just fell over trying to get out of bed."

"I'm better now," Blair argued. "Besides, Nate just asked me to meet him."

Chuck raised an eyebrow, and Blair flopped back amongst her pillows.

"Fine, don't. When I trip onto the street and get run over by a cab, I'll have you to blame."

Chuck sighed, running his hand through his unruly hair. "Why don't you ask Serena?"

"She's probably passed out in the bathroom," Blair said with a wave of her hand. "She'll come to in an hour or so."

"And you're going to leave her there?"

"I've done this before, Bass." Blair reminded him, eyes steely. "S will sleep it off and be as annoyingly chipper as always in a few hours."

"Fine," Chuck grumbled. "But you might want to do something about your hair. I doubt Nathaniel will believe that we slept innocently next to each other with you in such a—"

He was cut off by another glare courtesy of Blair Waldorf, but as she attempted to rearrange her tangled curls, he couldn't help the small smile that graced his face.

…

_Fall 2007_

"Blair!"

She ignored the pounding on the door as she continued placing the headband in her hair. She had already tried on three-they were now discarded almost carelessly on the countertop, and she was running out of options.

It was practical, really, that Blair left a few uniforms, coats, and pairs of shoes at his suite. Blair Waldorf did _not_ do walks of shame, and exiting the Palace in yesterday's clothes would simply not do. Additionally, nights with Chuck had left her sufficiently exhausted and going straight to Constance instead of returning home was more sensible.

But when it all came down to it, Blair loved the fact that she had a (albeit tiny) space in his closet. It was almost as if they were _dating_, and her green and white striped toothbrush next to his navy one was certainly proof that _something_ was going on between them. Furthermore, he had graciously (or not-so-graciously, now that she thought about it) cleared out room in his scarf drawer for her headbands. She was going to have to ask him for more room, she thought as she threw the grey headband down in frustration.

"Blair!" came his voice again, and Blair rolled her eyes as she opened the door.

"What?" she asked, refusing to be turned on by the sight of Chuck bass, looking slightly disheveled and clad only in silk boxers.

"You didn't wake me up," he accused, almost petulantly as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. Blair had the sudden urge to kiss him, to pin him to the wall and run her hands through his hair. She settled for gripping the doorknob instead, leveling him with a smirk.

"Well _darling_," she emphasized, reveling in the glower that spread across his face. She knew her usage of pet names irritated him to no end, and she wouldn't be Blair Waldorf if she didn't take advantage of that knowledge. "You were so worn out from last night I thought I'd let you sleep."

Chuck raised an eyebrow suggestively as he took in the black lace of her bra, barely visible through the demure white button up.

"Well," he husked, smirking as he drew closer and she backed away almost cautiously. "If you had woken me up earlier, I would have joined you in the shower."

"And we'd be late," Blair chastised almost breathlessly, grabbing a headband at random-a rich purple silk one-and placing it haphazardly in her curls. "Which I will be if I don't leave. Now."

Chuck only stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his arms folded across his bare chest as he smirked at her.

"Nuh-uh," he crooned. "You're not going anywhere."

"And why is that?" she huffed, grabbing her blazer from where she had tossed it on the counter.

"For one," he started with another smirk. "You're putting your blazer on inside out."

Frowning slightly, Blair realized that she _was_ putting her blazer on inside out, and she quickly removed it and turned it right side out.

"And," he continued, moving forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. "You made me late, so you're going to be late with me."

"No," she said sternly. "I have had a perfect record at Constance Billard since-"

"Kindergarten," he said with a roll of his eyes. "We've all heard. Come on Waldorf, live a little."

"No," she said again, struggling to maintain her composure as his arms wrapped around her waist.

"We can spend all afternoon in bed," he crooned into her ear, delighting in the shiver that spread through her body.

"Bass," she gasped as his hands wandered down her back, stopping just short of cupping her bottom. "No."

But he started kissing her then, and her lips slackened as his tongue plundered her mouth. She moaned into him as she ran her hands through his disheveled hair, as she had wanted to do before. One of his hands wrapped in her curls, tangling them impossibly.

Needless to say, when Blair Waldorf showed up at school two hours late, her hair was in uncharacteristic disarray, the purple silk headband doing nothing to take away from the obvious tangles in her hair.

When Serena questioned her best friend's current state of hair and inquired about her absence (according to Serena, Ms. Ollivmer had nearly fallen out of her chair in shock when there had been no prompt 'here' when 'Blair Waldorf' was called) Blair silently cursed morning afters. But as she thought back on the hours spent in bed-she allowed herself a small, self-satisfactory smirk that went unnoticed by Serena.

The messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed-hairdo was a small price to pay for a morning spent in utter bliss.

….

_Spring 2008_

She had missed this.

During the brief period in which they had snuck around, Blair had been prone to waking up moments before Chuck. Fleeting moments in which she would watch him sleep, and let herself fall into the fantasies her mind concocted without permission from her more conscious side.

She would wonder, what it could be like if this were the rest of her life. Chuck's arm wrapped securely around her, Blair didn't think it would be that bad. Waking up every morning with a few stolen moments to watch him, expressions devoid of the smirk she had been so used to.

Blair had missed those appropriated seconds of Chuck where she saw _Chuck Bass_, and not the smirking front everyone else was privy to.

And now, months later, his face was inches from hers, his arm curled around her back, and her leg hitched over his hip.

She reveled in the warmth that stemmed from his hand on her back, let her gaze linger on his open, sleeping, face.

Blair kept her movements to a minimum, slowing down her rapid breaths until she was sure she wouldn't wake him up.

Because in the back of her mind, a place she hardly dared encroach at the present time, she knew what would have to be done once he woke up.

It was always this way with them, this push-and-pull, tug-of-war that was both exciting and tiring, but breaking the cycle meant taking a chance. A chance that they could be hurt.

It was easier this way, Blair knew, and she let another fantasy go with a hushed sigh. Though it was apparent that Chuck had heard her, for his lips twitched ever so slightly, and his eyelids started to flutter.

And Blair knew that her few cherished moments were gone once more.

So she did what came with the territory of being Blair Waldorf.

She pretended.

Sitting up in mock surprise, she took one last look at the innocent expression that had encompassed the devil's face, and reached back, slapping his hand away.

"Ow!"

Gasping loudly, Blair proceeded to slide off the bed, the feeling of his hand on her waist still very much present.

"Who, what, when, where, _why?_"

Chuck had flipped over onto his back, his hair tousled as Blair resisted the urge to fall back into bed with him.

Again.

"We were up late plotting against Georgina. We must have dozed off."

"And you were on the _floor_." Blair shot back, attempting to rearrange her dress.

"I didn't want to hurt my back," Chuck reasoned.

"Why? It's not like you ever do anything athletic," she sneered, though she knew the statement wasn't exactly truth, considering—

"Well," Chuck said, smirking as he sat up. "That's not entirely true now, is it?"

"Fine," she acquiesced in frustration. "Nothing that requires you removing your scarf."

"That was one time. It was chilly."

Grappling for words, Blair couldn't help but notice that morning afters suited Chuck quite well. Because despite the fact that his shirt was wrinkled and his hair was in disarray, Blair couldn't help but think that perhaps, just perhaps…

No. "Before you landed in my bed, we actually landed on a good idea," she said instead, following him slightly as Chuck hopped of the bed and grabbed his blazer.

"Well I trust you can take it from here," he said, shrugging into his blazer with alarming speed. "I have a best man's speech to write, and no time to write it."

"Don't worry, I can be bitch enough for the both of us."

"I still have the scars on my back to prove it," Chuck said, leaning closer. Bracing her hands against his chest, Blair began pushing him in the direction of her door, scowling at him all the while.

"You know, they say if you love something you should set it free."

"Ugh," she said, pushing him across the threshold with a flourish.

"They say when you hate something you should slam the door in its face."

"I love it when you talk—"

The door closed between them, Blair rolling her eyes as she turned around, her expression reading of disgust.

But as footsteps echoed down the stairs, Blair couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

…

Blair fumed as she stood half-naked outside Chuck's door, knowing the Mother Chucker was pretending to be unable to hear her. If his low chuckles were anything to go by, he could hear her just fine.

And that meant she was being ignored.

(Blair Waldorf did not like being ignored.)

"Chuck!" she tried once more, her voice verging on desperate. The Harriets' brunch was in a mere hour, and she was still half-dressed, her previous night's makeup smeared, and her hair impossibly tangled.

Cursing under her breath, she turned on her heel and exited the room, hoping Serena wouldn't mind if Blair used her shower.

She was so consumed in her own thoughts of murdering the Bass-tard that she didn't notice a certain someone also consumed in his own thoughts (or rather, Blackberry).

It wasn't until she crashed into someone did Blair look up, meeting the surprised ice-blue eyes of one Bart Bass, who had, by the looks of the suitcase he clutched, just returned from his honeymoon.

Blair's eyes widened considerably, and Bart's face colored instantly as he took in her state of dress, which currently considered of nothing other than a pair of La Perlas and one of Chuck's shirts, which (thank God) covered most of her petite frame.

From the astonished look in Bart's eyes, Blair guessed that the elder Bass had _not _known about Blair's presence in the penthouse-or Chuck's room, for that matter.

"Good morning Mr. Bass," she said cheerily, attempting to pull Chuck's shirt farther down her legs as she edged around Bart, who seemed to be rooted to the spot in shock.

"Blair," he managed, his face still uncharacteristically bright red. "I didn't know you were….er-staying over."

"Yes, well." Blair attempted her best society smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "I'm-"

"You and Chuck," Bart mused, cutting her off completely. "I hope you both are using..."

He trailed off, his voice nervous-an emotion not befitting the great Bart Bass. Blair blushed furiously as she nodded, finally edging away towards Serena's bedroom. "Of course," she said, refusing to meet his eyes as she hurried away.

She spotted Serena's telltale head of blonde hair as she snuck past her sleeping best friend, breathing a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her.

She really should stop staying over at Chuck's.

…

_Summer 2009_

The morning sun threw shadows across the floors, alighting upon the two (very naked) entwined figures on the bed. They wore matching smiles of contentment, the very picture of simplistic bliss.

Until, of course, the alarm beeped. Slowly at first, the beeping grew both in pitch and fervor, as it remained ignored.

Blair groaned at the noise, attempting to reach out and hit the 'sleep' button. The heavy arm thrown over her stomach stilled her movements, and she realized that there was a warm body covering hers.

"Chuck," she whispered, attempting to disentangle her legs from hers. Chuck had always slept heavily, mostly due to the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol, but in general, you were hard pressed to wake Chuck Bass up.

"Chuck," she said louder, pushing against his chest. "Chuck, we have to wake up."

He opened an eye sleepily as she continued pushing against his chest, smiling lazily and pulling her closer.

"Good morning," he whispered against her hair, and Blair had to smile slightly at his odd romantic tendencies in the mornings.

"We have to get up," she protested as his hand wandered down her back, eliciting shivers from her in return.

"Why?" he asked, a smirk gracing his features as his fingers wandered even lower.

"My mother's—" but he cut her off with a searching kiss, and she found herself losing her train of thought momentarily.

"Bass," she said breathlessly when they finally broke apart. "My mother's brunch is today. And she's probably going to come up here any moment now—"

Groaning, Chuck pulled back, the prospect of Eleanor walking in on them a risk he wasn't prepared to take.

Even if Blair was only wearing the flimsiest of pale pink slips.

But as she stretched her arms above her head, luxuriating in the warmth that spread from the tips of her fingers to her toes, Chuck found that there wasn't really a risk he wouldn't take.

Rolling her under him, Chuck smirked as he played with the strap of her slip, and Blair frowned in return.

"Bass," she said with a groan, attempting to push him off.

"This'll only take a moment," he said, placing a kiss on her collarbone as he trailed his fingers down her side.

"We can't—"

But he cut her off with another kiss, and Blair knew it was futile to resist him when a familiar heat began to pool between her thighs. And so she found herself kissing him back, twining her hands through his hair.

Later that morning, or rather, afternoon, the two sat innocently as Eleanor scrutinized her daughter over croissants and berries.

"Blair," she hissed, so as to not be heard by their numerous guests. "Couldn't you have been bothered to brush your hair?"

Blair frowned slightly, and Chuck attempted to hide a smirk as Serena and Eric shot each other knowing looks. All of which went unnoticed by Eleanor, who wore an expression of utter perplexity.

* * *

**Up Next: Tattoos have always been verboten in the Upper East Side. Alcohol induced mistakes quickly covered up by heavy makeup before a dermatologist wielding a laser could be called upon. Blair Waldorf's never liked tattoos anyway, who would want an ugly black scar marring their skin? Trust Chuck Bass to change that.  
**


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